Page 21 of Fated to the Lone Shifter (Curse of the Lunaris Alpha #1)

Chapter nineteen

Into the Flames

SERA

I spy on conversations in the common room from the comfort of my bunk, the earbud snug in my ear like a secret tucked in tight.

The current voices have me intrigued—Noah’s low and steady with a slow simmer underneath it, another unfamiliar voice, his Uncle’s I presume, bold and charismatic, the Bensons, caring and helpful, blissfully ignorant of the darkness in the world.

It’s strange, listening in on someone else’s reunion.

Stranger still when that someone is your recently discovered fated mate.

I sit on the edge of my bed, fingers knotted in my lap. Part of me wants to burst out and declare myself and make a first-hand assessment. The other part—the seasoned, jaded undercover agent—tells me to wait. Stay hidden. Wait for the right moment.

That moment comes sooner than expected.

A knock at the door. “They’d like to meet you,” the Captain says, peeking in with a small, encouraging wink.

I pull out my earbud, smooth my shirt, grab the closest hair tie to pull my curls into a quick ponytail, and step into the hallway. My pulse hammers in my ears.

The Bensons are warm, immediately ushering me in with outstretched hands and kind smiles that scream we already like you . I look at Noah. What has he told them about me? And when?

I offer a shy but sincere greeting. Their kindness wraps around me like a welcome breeze.

Then there’s Bode.

He steps forward like he’s walking onto a stage, all swagger and slow grins. “Sera, right? We met at the grocery store. Of course I remember you.” His eyes flicker with something too knowing. Too hungry.

I barely suppress a shiver.

He takes my hand in his, and for one horrible moment, I think he might kiss it. But before he can, Noah steps forward and laces his fingers with mine.

Possessive. Protective. Good. I guess he and I are coming out to the crew, although I suspect the Captain already knew. His wink made me feel he was rooting for me.

I lean into Noah’s side, squeezing his hand. His wolf energy pulses hot through our bond.

“Pleasure to meet you...again,” I say to Bode, offering only a thin smile.

The tension between the two men is thick enough to ignite.

Just as Noah’s grip tightens, the firehouse alarm screams through the hallway.

Captain Greene appears, his expression tense. “Suit up. We’ve got a wildfire west of Coyote Ridge. Move fast.”

Saved by the bell.

Ten minutes later we’re grabbing the rail on the back of the truck, engines roaring, tires spitting gravel as we tear away from the firehouse.

It’s a long ride—this fire is farther than any I’ve seen so far. I hold on tight, wind ripping through my jacket, the scent of smoke thickening with every mile.

I shout over the engine noise, “Do you think it’s the arsonist again?”

Noah leans toward me, his jaw tense. “I have no idea,” he calls back. “But we’re going to find out.”

It’s nearly a half an hour later when I finally say what’s been gnawing at me since the firehouse. “Your uncle was way out of line.”

Noah snorts. “I would’ve bet the farm he was the arsonist.”

I grin. “Guess not. Just a dweeb.”

We both laugh, tension cracking just enough for him to reach across the rail and squeeze my hand.

It’s a simple gesture, but it nearly sends us flying as the truck skids around a curve and comes to an abrupt stop.

“Hold on!” Marcus shouts over the intercom. “We’re going in on foot—the road’s washed out.”

We jump down, boots hitting packed dirt.

Around us, the forest is too quiet, the air charged with something electric. Along the ridge, I catch the blur of movement—dark shapes weaving through the trees like smoke given form.

Wolves. A pack.

Noah lifts his head, sniffing the air. “Yeah,” he mutters, almost to himself. “This is the same arsonist. Or at least connected.”

I don’t ask how he knows. I trust it—trust him.

We move fast, the scent of fire pulling us forward, and deep in my gut, I already know: this blaze isn’t natural.

Not even close.

The fire rages in scattered pockets—hot tongues of flame licking dry bark, flaring high before sputtering, then flaring again with renewed hunger at dry trees and grass, devouring everything in uneven bursts.

The smoke is thick—oily and acrid—making it hard to breathe, even through our masks.

It clings to our skin, seeps into our clothes, coats every breath with ash.

I’m paired with Tori and one of the senior crew, cutting trenches and setting backfires. I focus hard on the rhythm—cut, burn, retreat—letting the muscle memory take over. Each controlled blaze we light is meant to eat up the fuel before the wildfire can, but today… it isn’t behaving.

“Something’s wrong,” Tori mutters behind her mask, eyes narrowed at the tree line.

I see it too. The wind shifts—hard and sudden—pushing flames against the natural slope, driving the fire uphill faster than it should.

Heat pulses from underground, warping the air in strange directions.

A patch we cleared ten minutes ago is burning again—spontaneous re-ignition. That shouldn’t be possible.

“This pattern doesn’t make sense,” I say tightly. “It’s like it’s—”

“Moving with intention.” Tori finishes grimly.

Exactly.

I steal a quick glance at the forest beyond the line. There’s something in the energy here—something coiled and watching. My magic prickles like it’s trying to warn me. This isn’t just wildfire.

It’s being fed. Steered.

And we’re in its path.

Tori grips my arm, just for a second. “We can stop it,” she says under her breath, low enough not to be overheard. “But you’ll have to anchor it.”

My heart slams against my ribs. I look around to see who’s watching. “Now?”

She nods, already reaching for the pouch at her hip—an ordinary-looking medical kit, but I know better. From a hidden pocket, she pulls a small vial of ash root and a twisted length of braided copper wire.

“Blend it,” she mutters, crushing the root between her fingers and sprinkling it into my glove. “You carry the spark. I’ll direct the break.”

We kneel together in the scorched soil, the flames closing in, wind howling like it knows what we’re doing. I press my palm to the ground. The copper warms as I feed power into it—just enough to ripple the ley lines beneath the blaze.

Tori chants softly beside me, ancient syllables slipping through her lips like smoke through cracks.

My fingers burn. The fire pulses once—angry. It lunges.

And then it falters.

A sharp gust bursts through the canyon, slamming into the fire’s edge like a divine slap. The flames stutter, collapse inward, suffocating on their own breath.

The slope ahead—once glowing orange—goes still.

We rise together, breath ragged.

No one saw the magic. But we felt it.

The fire's will has been broken. For now.

As I catch my breath, I glance up and see the Captain watching us, scanning the scorched earth like a detective at a crime scene.

I walk over to him as Tori goes out to test for remaining embers.

“Have you ever seen a fire do that?” I ask, feigning naivete.

His head wobbles back and forth as he ponders this. His fingers twitch as if they are feeling for something that will make everything make sense again.

The Captain falls to his knees. I run to him, heart in my throat, thinking he’s hurt—but then I see it.

Something glints in the soot.

He reaches forward with his gloved hand, brushing away charred debris. The thing buried beneath isn’t metal at first glance—just scorched bone, fused into melted denim. Then the light catches a silver ring on a blackened toe.

Not a thing. A person.

I suck in a breath as forensics arrives. They move quickly but reverently, cordoning off the area. One tech kneels beside the Captain and begins photographing the exposed limb while another brushes the surrounding ash with a delicate horsehair tool.

“Left leg,” one of them murmurs. “Partial burn. No boot. Could be a civilian or a missing crew member.”

A third tech lifts something from the debris with tongs—a charred necklace chain threaded through a cracked, obsidian pendant.

“Tag it,” the Captain says hoarsely, still kneeling.

The scent hits me next. Sharp. Artificial.

Gasoline.

It curls through the clearing like a whisper—faint but unmistakable.

Marcus walks up, face grim, looking around as if he isn’t sure who is watching. He holds out a warped, half-melted gas can. “Found this about a half mile out,” he says. “Down by the ridge line.”

“Good eye,” the Captain replies, tagging the can with evidence tape before handing it off. “Chain of custody starts now. This wasn’t an accident.”

No one argues.We all feel it.

The fire had help. And the body didn’t die by chance.

I follow the Captain to where the evidence is being collected in one large heap. He adds a few items to the pile and sits down, running his hands through his hair. He looks out across the clearing, dazed, as if he’s seeing something else from another time.

I approach cautiously and lay a hand on his shoulder.

“Captain, are you alright?”

It takes him a moment to register my presence. When he does, he simply shakes his head from side to side, as if there is nothing more he can think of to do.

I cannot bear to see this great man like this. I respect him, but I can feel him dealing with demons from the past, and I cannot let those demons take hold of him right now. We need him to be strong for everything that comes next.

I give him a bottle of water to drink. He gulps it down and tosses the empty container.

I gently take his hands and look directly in his eyes.

“Praeteritum dimitte. In praesenti vive,” I whisper—release the past, live in the present.

My intention pulses through the words like a spell half-spoken, half-felt.

The Latin hums low in my chest, slipping through his skin as subtly as heat from a fading ember.

I feel my magic move through my fingers into his hands and through his nervous system into the Amygdala section of the brain.

He shivers and his arms take turns twitching.

Then he exhales and looks me straight in the eye.

“What did you do to me?”

I smile. “You were just dehydrated, Sir. You should be fine now.”

He gets up, a new man. Present and fully in charge. He heads back to perimeter to oversee the final clean-up.

I slink over to the evidence staging area and wait until no one is watching.

I bend down, pretending I am organizing the materials.

Just a second, just a whisper of breath—and I slip a minor enchantment over the bags.

Not enough to tamper, just enough to imprint the magical essence so I can study them later.

As I straighten, I feel a presence behind me.

Marcus.

He watches me, unreadable. “You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah. Just a few scrapes.”

He glances at the pile of evidence, then back at me. “Be careful around this stuff. You get your prints on it, and we might think you’re the arsonist for real this time.”

He winks, but his words feel more like a veiled threat.

“You should ride back with Tori. Let her fix you up.”

I nod. “Thanks. I will.”

He watches me a minute too long before ambling off.

A moment later, he looks back.

“I’m going,” I say again.

“Alright.”

He waves me off and boards one of the firetrucks.

I can’t shake the feeling that his interest had nothing to do with my wellbeing, and more to do with him checking up on me. And he saw something I didn't want him to see.

I glance back at the evidence staging, my enchantment glimmering faintly in the sunlight for any supernatural to see, and then turn toward the ambulance.

Noah is heading my way, he glimpses the enchantment on his way to get checked out. He pretends he doesn’t notice, but I know he does.

As I join Tori, I can’t help but wonder how many secrets one crew can keep before they all go up in flames.